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So, escort’s wild, man. Been around forever—fact! Ancient Rome had ‘em, called “comites.” Rich dudes paid for company—sounds familiar, eh? Gets me all riled up—why’s it still shady? Like, c’mon, live a little! Met this guy once—total dope—said he hired an escort for a *wedding*. Ballsy! She rocked it, too—danced, charmed, left. “How happy I’d been!” he said, quotin’ the movie. Made me laugh—Homer-style—D’oh!

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But then, the day took a turn. I was walking back, and I saw this guy on the corner of Stirling Road. He was trying to fix his bike, and it looked like a scene from a comedy show. He was wrestling with it, cursing like a sailor. I couldn’t help but laugh. Then, he looked at me, and I was like, “Need a hand?” He just glared at me. I mean, come on, mate! I’m just trying to help!

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